Harmindon's Finest

Chapter 11 - The Bride's Shawl

Some months later, there was a knock at the door.

It woke me up from my first proper, long sleep in weeks, and was annoyed at having it interrupted. I took a moment to mutter some angry curses to the Golden Serpent before going to answer the door.

The knocker was getting urgent. Evidently there was some sort of emergency, but I stood at the door for some minutes, relishing in this disturber's urgency.

I waited a little too long as unfortunately the knocking woke the rest of the household. "What's going on, Jeddah?" Miarka asked, peeking her head through the curtains that separated our living area from the workshop. Her dark eyes were anxious, but still heavy with sleep. "Go to bed, silly girl," I hissed, making flapping motions with my hands.

"Jeddah, what is that noise?" Grandmother demanded croakily from her bed. It was the only proper bed we owned - the bed Miarka and I had been born in, the bed Mother had died in. Grandmother shared it with Miarka, but I slept on the floor even if it killed me - I would rather die than sleep in that bed.

"By the Stars, Grandmother. I'll deal with this. Please get some rest." I shooed Miarka away and lit some of the window candles. The door was not very sturdily built, prone to breaking off its hinges entirely when someone knocked too desperately. I didn't particularly want this to be the case in the middle of the night, so I opened it. Whoever I was expecting, it was not this.

A young man, quite a bit taller than me, but that was not surprising. Most young men are taller than me. Those high cheekbones, the way his dark hair curled above his ears- I knew this young man - of course I knew this young man - everyone in the city of Harmindon knew this man. I blinked, almost thinking I was still dreaming.

Sufyan, the Ramyah's son, stood on our doorstep.

"Talia? Are you the seamstress?"

I shook my head. "Talia was my mother. She is dead. I am the seamstress now. My name is Jeddah." He looked disappointed, and made to turn away, but I called him back.

"Wait, does your mother need some embroidery done? If so, I can do it as well as my mother. I did the awnings above our shop." Sufyan nodded in recognition, and seemed satisfied. 

"Mother said Talia is the best in Harmindon, and only she would do. However, I have seen the awnings above your shop, and I believe you."

I looked at him carefully. I knew Mother had once sewed for all kinds of nobility but I hadn't realised that even the Ramyah knew of her. And the awnings had been met with all kinds of bemused glances, annoyed, sarcastic, you name it - this was the first time someone had spoken to me about them seriously. I had long given up hope of their being of any use. Taking a deep breathe, gestured him in, and he held out a package tied hurriedly in brown paper.

"I cannot stay. This is not for mother, but my betrothed, Princess Túrien of Gondor."

I closed my eyes - surely, surely this was all a dream. Never in a million years would I be able to sew for Princess Túrien - such a thing was impossible. Every time I saw her, taking in the fresh air of the gardens or walking down the winding streets leading to the marketplace in the past months, with her soon-to-be husband never leading her side, always with a pair of guards at their heels, she seemed even more ethereal and lovely than before. 

There had been a rumour circulating recently that her mother was an elf, and everyone that had been on the main street of Harmindon yesterday and had seen with their own eyes the bride's family approach knew these rumours were true. I was in the workshop, but Miarka had been playing out with her friends, and she told me. Not that I doubted it, of course - not just her looks and friendly smile, but her air, her general bearing. Their wedding was supposed to be tomorrow.